Traditions
by LCFC
Summary: Normal Families have traditions  Now it is Sam & Dean's turn.  Very gentle incest  no sex!


**Title:** Traditions

**Author:** Annie  
**Pairing(s)/Character(s)**: Sam/Dean – very gentle incest – no sex!

**Rating:** PG-13

**Summary:** Normal Families have traditions – now it is the Winchester's turn.

This is a future fic – something to distract me from my angst – and to give Dean and Sam a happy ending with no Mary-Sues!

Disclaimer: I don't own Sam or Dean – they belong to Kripke – as do all the other characters in this fiction. If I could earn money doing this – I would be in Vancouver – making love to JTP!!

The moon is full and high in the sky; stars bright and endless, silver jewels on a bed of black velvet. Beyond the ridge, the town is silent, lit up like a Christmas tree, lights sparkling, red and blue and gold. He gets out of the Impala and stands on the crest of the hill, looking down. The world is at his feet, literally.

Years ago, when he was much younger, this was a make-out point. He might have bought a few girls up here, watched their eyes light up as he settled them into the car. Black and chic, she was always a chick magnet and he won't ever be rid of her, whatever anyone says, however much teasing he has to endure.

It is funny, he muses, how much you appreciate life when you have almost lost it, when someone threatens to pull it away from you. He smiles, wryly, shivering a little in the cold night air.

It was his own fault; no one forced him, but he was glad he did it and, even now, he does not regret it, won't bring himself to apologise. He only did what he thought was right at the time and, hey, it turned out ok in the end, so why eat yourself up.

He glances at his watch; brand new, all soft leather and a real silver face. He never really had nice things before and he feels, irrationally, guilty at times, to have them now. He shivers again and curses, softly, under his breath. He was certain they said 9pm and now it's nearer 9.30 – he grits his teeth and looks back at the car longingly. Maybe he might be tempted to turn the heater on.

It's frigging December and cold and, although he wants to do this, he wishes that they could have just gone to the store like normal people. He'd never been one for traditions, mostly because he'd never been in the position to have them, to respect them. He swallows hard; frickin' chick flick moments, how long had he worked hard to avoid them only to find them creeping up at him on a regular basis.

He can almost hear his father's laughter from here.

There is a sudden movement behind him and he turns quickly, years of training snapping into play, the knife in his fingers before he even sees the interloper's face. Anxious hazel eyes stare back at him and large, yet delicate, hands flap in his face "Dean?"

"Sorry" he sheaths the knife and has the decency to look embarrassed "You – um – startled me"

"Startled you?" dimples show deep in the darkness and a hand is passed through that familiar shaggy hair "I told you I'd be here Dean – who were you expecting – the yeti?"

"Yeti's don't come this far North" he is smiling now, aware of how shamefaced he looked "Are you ready?" he taps Sam's shoulder lightly "I've got a shovel in my trunk"

Sam glances over to the Impala; his home for as long as he can remember and then at his brother. Dean's nose is red and he isn't wearing gloves, no doubt he felt he was too cool for that "Yeah I'm ready" he smiles, wearily "Let's do this thing"

It doesn't take long; even though they are older and their bodies are beginning to feel the strain of digging hard ground. Half an hour later, the job is done and nothing looks as if it has ever been disturbed. The earth is flat and the forest is peaceful.

Sam sighs and stretches. He rubs his dirty hands over his thick black overcoat and realises he will have to wash it, again. He smiles at Dean who is loading the trunk "I could use a beer" he says.

The fridge freezer is frickin huge and Dean almost loses himself in it as he searches for the tins he hid away earlier. There is a delicious smell coming from the oven and Sam looks pretty gay in a frilly apron, but Dean rather likes domestic and he is surprised how much he has gotten used to it.

Sam grins back at him "What do I get?" he asks "As a reward – for cooking dinner – even after a hard day at the office"

Dean raises his eyebrows and Sam smirks. The sparkle in his eyes tells Dean that no words are needed and he slumps down on the couch, flipping the beer open with his thumb, his mind going over what he might do to Sam later.

Dean is tired and replete and he watches as Sam loads the dishwasher. He knows that Sam must be exhausted, he has a big case on at the moment and Lawyers are pretty stressed individuals, but he also knows that Sam wants to do this, needs to do this and he grins, getting out the keys to the Impala and shouldering into his coat "Let's finish it" he says.

He drags it into the sitting room, wondering if they have gone a little too far this time. Its frickin huge and Dean's arms ache like a bastard when he's finished.

It's worth it though, to see the look on Sam's face; to see open, almost boyish wonder on those tired, worn features. Dean swallows, trying to avoid another slush session, knowing that he doesn't have to say what is in his heart, knowing Sam will just get it.

The Christmas tree isn't their first nor will it be their last. It is a tradition that they started almost fifteen years ago, when they moved into this place with little more than the contents of the Impala's trunk and a dream. It was the first Winchester family tradition that they had ever had and they were determined to keep it.

Dean ducks his head, on the pretence of looking for the lights but Sam second guesses him and leans down, kissing his lips in a soft, insistent way.

There is no need for Dean to say i Thank you – you saved me – I love you /i because Sam already knows. They don't talk about debts paid or deals done, they don't talk about the dead or the dark anymore.

By the time the tree is trimmed and the lights are sparkling, they are exhausted; a good, healthy exhaustion, that makes them slump onto the couch, wrapped around each other, a crappy Christmas movie playing on the wide-screened TV.

Just a lawyer and a mechanic; two guys whom the neighbourhood loves and doesn't condemn.

They've saved enough people – now it is time – Dean figures – to save themselves.

The End


End file.
